


A flower in your garden

by dressruffles



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Domestic, Autism, Autistic Character(s), Gen, M/M, Neurodiversity, Sensory Overload, mentions of stimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:49:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6627844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dressruffles/pseuds/dressruffles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s about one day at a time.  About loving yourself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A flower in your garden

**Author's Note:**

> this is something i've been sitting on and tweaking for forever :/ so whatever, i'm going to post it and not look back.
> 
>  
> 
> this was going to be a lot longer, but... anyway this was cathartic, so i stopped when it felt right. originally there were going to be a million and two cameos, but i did my best. this is also a very personal story.

It starts over oatmeal, of all things. Yifan has a special bowl he eats oatmeal in, not that Kyungsoo knows that. In their entire cabinet of matching, high-end dishware that Kyungsoo had spent five weeks deciding on after mulling over exactly which brand and what color scheme went best with their gray marble top counters, there’s a single cheap hard plastic bowl that’s more wide than deep and barely counts as a bowl instead of a plate with curved up edges. Kyungsoo had wanted to throw it out, but Yifan had insisted that it was left over from college and had sentimental value; so it stayed.

(Yifan’s had it since college because it works well for him. He could probably find other bowls that fit the criteria, but he’s not too sure how he’d explain it to Kyungsoo.)

He likes his bowl because it’s wide and shallow, so when he makes oatmeal he can see how every oat has cooked since it’s stretched across the bottom of the bowl as a thin film. Kyungsoo thinks it looks gross, but he also prefers coffee and an orange for breakfast, so to each their own.

One morning, however, Yifan wakes up and ambles into the kitchen to find Kyungsoo doling out two bowls of oatmeal from a pot on the stovetop, still in his pajamas.

There is not initially a problem. “Kyungsoo?” Yifan asks, surprised that he’s not already ready to rush out the door, coffee in hand. Yifan works from home mostly (scrounging online for wholesale goods to import from Mainland China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong to get for the half nichey items shop, half antique shop he and Chanyeol run), but they do try to eat breakfast together on most days.

Kyungsoo shrugs and sets the bowls down on the table. “Ryeowook called in a favor, so he’s covering my shift today while I cover his. So now I get the Thursday evening rush with all the businessmen ordering private five course meals, naturally.” Kyungsoo shakes his head as Yifan grimaces sympathetically. “It is what it is.”

Yifan gestures at their kitchen at large, before asking, “So what is this?”

Kyungsoo smiles and beckons Yifan forward, and when Yifan crosses the kitchen and reaches Kyungsoo, he obediently leans down and in for a kiss. “Breakfast. Figured if I have nowhere to be I might as well indulge.”

Yifan smiles against Kyungsoo’s lips. “You don’t even like oatmeal.”

“I don’t like the gross way _you_ make oatmeal. In the microwave and stuff. I’m making you indulge too; this oatmeal was simmered on the stove and has cream and fruit and my freshly pressed Madagascar vanilla in it. It’ll change your life.”

Yifan snorts. “Simmered with love?”

Kyungsoo raises an eyebrow. “Simmered with my amazing cooking expertise. Sit down and eat your food.”

Yifan smiles and does as he’s told -- and here’s where the problem starts. Kyungsoo with all his professional cooking sense in tow, has made sure the presentation has been taken into account. The oatmeal is in matching bowls for them both, with a sprinkle of fresh berries and a dash of cinnamon on the top. It’s beautiful, but it’s also not Yifan’s oatmeal bowl.

But Kyungsoo’s sitting down and smiling at him, and Yifan can’t ruin that. He carefully picks up his spoon and stares down at his food.

The bowl is deep and Yifan can only see the oatmeal on the very top. Carefully he acts as if he’s stirring the oatmeal, when he’s trying to casually root around in it and see all the oats. It’s hard because the oatmeal keeps collapsing and piling in on itself in this bowl.

Kyungsoo scowls at him between bites. “Stop playing with your food and eat already. Different isn’t bad, right?”

God, Kyungsoo is probably thinking Yifan’s being wary because it’s all fancy. And Yifan -- no, he’s grateful, of course. He just -- 

Yifan smiles and nods and carefully takes a tiny bite off his spoon, eyes scanning the remaining oatmeal.

Kyungsoo’s grinning again. “Good, right?”

It _is_ good, the flavor bursting magnificently on Yifan’s tongue, but he’s worried about how the texture in his mouth might betray him and it’s hard to enjoy it. “Yeah,” he says with as much excitement as he can manage and takes another little bite.

There’s a brief lull of silence, just the sound of Kyungsoo’s spoon clinking against his bowl. Yifan’s still working on his first spoonful, nibbling carefully and looking. It’s tedious work.

“Okay,” Kyungsoo says suddenly, and Yifan looks up, startled to see Kyungsoo’s eyebrows furrowing. “Look, if you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.”

Yifan starts in his seat. “No no,” Yifan says, voice accidentally coming out in a breathless rush because he feels like he’s straining himself, eating this oatmeal and worrying. “It’s really good, Kyungsoo!”

Kyungsoo looks decidedly unimpressed and unconvinced, and he opens his mouth to say something but Yifan shakes his head fervently and scoops out more oatmeal. “Seriously!” He says before taking a huge bite as proof.

Kyungsoo himself is looking wary and Yifan smiles with his eyes as he chews his spoonful. And Kyungsoo is opening his mouth again to say something, the hint of a returning smile at the corners of his mouth, when Yifan chokes because -- 

_God_ , he can’t think and he doesn’t want to ruin everything but there it is, one of the hard and sharp oat shells or whatever they are, the sharp little pieces that stab him in the mouth and feel disgusting against his tongue and -- 

Yifan gags. He doesn’t have a napkin, so he just unceremoniously spits his mouthful out back into his bowl and gets up to run to the bathroom.

Things get hazy in this urgency to get the phantom sensation out of his mouth. All he knows for a very long moment is that he’s bent over the bathroom sink, gagging still and spitting and desperately rinsing his mouth out.

Eventually, he calms down and stops feeling like the world might end because his insides and his brain are all wound up and tight over how his mouth feels. When he shuts off the water and takes a deep breath, he looks up to see in the mirror that Kyungsoo is standing behind him and looking on carefully.

He looks worried but he also looks contemplative. Like if Yifan doesn’t have a good reason for this overreaction, he might have to think up suitable punishment. Yifan flounders for another good, long moment.

“I -- ” He says hoarsely, throat still tight from his episode. “Kyungsoo...”

“Are you okay?” Kyungsoo asks, carefully. “Are you sick?”

Yifan doesn’t know what to -- how to explain this because he’s -- he’s been hiding it, that he’s -- 

“No,” Yifan murmurs. “I. I have um. I have weird hang ups and um.”

Kyungsoo frowns a little, just a slight and almost imperceptible thing. That wasn’t the immediate response he, apparently, had wanted to hear. To Kyungsoo, that general excuse isn’t a cover up for a bigger, larger _thing_ like it is for Yifan -- it’s just a flimsy, jerk-off excuse. “What, my oatmeal’s too fancy for you? You’d rather I just zap it in the microwave and put it in your stupid, cheap, old bowl?”

And Kyungsoo’s _mad_ but Yifan doesn’t know how to get him to understand. “No,” he whispers. “No, Kyungsoo -- ”

Kyungsoo puts his hands up, like he’s just done with the whole thing when he doesn’t even _know_ the half of it, and he walks away. Yifan’s chest constricts and he finds himself facing an old familiar fear that he didn’t think he’d have to face again, not for a long while.

(He thought he’d gotten better about having everything under control. Or at least evading situations where he became too visible.)

+++

“You’re going to have to tell him,” Chanyeol tells him after Yifan recounts the whole issue. The two of them are on the tiny couch in Chanyeol’s onsite office, all their long limbs folded up and tangled together as Chanyeol gently rubs circles on his back. “Like...I don’t know if you’ll do more harm than good trying to explain around it, but Kyungsoo’s been my friend since high school, and I think he’ll take it well. I think you should be able to open up about this, because honestly otherwise things like this are going to keep happening until you do. And that’s not fair to you.”

Yifan shrugs, unconvinced, and Chanyeol huffs a little. “ _Seriously_ , he might end up being more pissed that you told me before you told him, the guy you’ve been dating since undergrad.”

“But that’s the thing,” Yifan says, upset and rubbing furiously at material of Chanyeol’s couch (they picked this specific couch for this specific reason, because it’s easier to play off when they invite partners and potential clients for goods reallocations up than Yifan sitting in the corner and stroking a giant stuffed animal while sorting out the details of a deal). “I’m not _dating_ you. We were talking about doing a startup business and it seemed really -- just, complicated to keep it from you. And dishonest.”

Chanyeol rolls his eyes. “Yeah, so much more complicated and dishonest to keep it from the guy you only spend all-nighters with in tax season or on restoration nights than from the guy you literally live with and are, by this point, basically married to.”

“Chanyeol,” something about Yifan’s tone makes Chanyeol’s expression go somber. “I’m not asking you to take on my burdens. You’re right. You don’t live with me. At the end of the day if the fact that I can’t handle or move any of the suede products bothers you, you can still go home and rant about it on the phone with Yura.”

“That was once!” Chanyeol yelps, defensive. But Yifan _gets it_ , that wasn’t an accusation at Chanyeol, because there are plenty of days where he’s sick of all the things that bother him too.

“At the end of the day we’re business partners and friends, and you can escape it by not being around me. But with Kyungsoo, where’s he going to go? What’s he going to do?” Yifan looks up at the ceiling and lets his thoughts slow and trail off as he starts to really hone in on the way his fingers are swiping over the armrest, sensations of pleasure making him shiver a little.

“He can’t escape this if he commits to it,” Yifan eventually remembers to say, a minute later. “It’s why no one ever wants to commit to it.”

“Commit to _you_ ,” Chanyeol corrects quietly. “And if they don’t want to take you with all your typical and not so typical stuff, then screw them -- Kyungsoo included.”

Yifan sort of wants to cry. “But I really like Kyungsoo.”

Chanyeol sighs and leans over to rest his head on Yifan’s shoulder. “So just tell him. Let him work it out in his head. He won’t -- I really don’t think he’ll mind as much as you think he might.”

+++

Yeah, but Yifan still avoids the problem. He sneaks into their apartment when he knows Kyungsoo is at work, and catches naps at Tao and Sehun’s place before working at the onsite office at weird hours during Kyungsoo’s off time.

“This is getting ridiculous,” Tao says when Yifan’s phone alarm goes off and wakes him up to Tao doing complicated looking stretches in the middle of the living room.

“What,” Yifan says groggily, squinting at Tao and trying to wake up properly. “The way you’ve got your leg twisted behind your own head?”

Tao waves at him with his toes, which is a little disturbing. “You’re just jealous of my flexibility. No -- I mean you practically living with us. I’d _kind of_ like to have sex with Sehun again at some point in the future. And I don’t know what kind of fight you had with Kyungsoo, but -- ”

“It’s too early for this kind of conversation,” Yifan decides immediately.

Tao levels him with an unimpressed look. “It’s five pm.”

“I just woke up!”

Tao huffs one of the biggest huffs Yifan has ever witnessed in his life. “But _why_?”

Sehun’s walking in at this moment, throwing his messenger bag full of his heavy academic books onto the couch -- and therefore directly onto Yifan’s stomach. Yifan grunts, while Tao makes a loud, happy noise and launches himself at Sehun. 

Sehun, who’s calmly saying, apparently having overhead the tail end of their conversation, “He sleeps weird hours because Kyungsoo hyung works the morning and lunch rush shift usually, right?”

Yeah, and Yifan doesn’t know when Kyungsoo might wriggle his way out of prep hours or take a long break to come home early and try to catch him napping, so he has to go home only when he knows the restaurant will be too busy for Kyungsoo to even fathom missing work, and sleep elsewhere so there’s no threat of him waking up to Kyungsoo having cornered him in to talk. It all makes Yifan’s stomach feel funny, because he remembers when that used to be a fun little surprise, whether or not Kyungsoo was going to pop up unexpected and unannounced, maybe with a container of leftovers from the morning courses or maybe a lunch soup that not enough people had ordered -- how that was barely a week ago before everything went to hell. 

So he just shrugs, trying to downplay the anxiety gnawing at his insides, fingers twitching for something. “I’m going to work now.”

“Okay,” Tao says as he peppers Sehun with kisses, and Sehun wriggles happily under the attention. “Well, after you’re done _don’t_ come back over here tonight. Go home and apologize to your boyfriend, instead.”

Yifan glares, though Tao isn’t paying any attention to him, and starts to gather his things. “Why do you assume it’s my fault?”

“I think we’re all just assuming that Kyungsoo isn’t going to be the one apologizing,” Sehun says steadily and tone dry, even as he’s wrapping his arms around Tao and clinging back. “That doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with guilt and blame. Just that Kyungsoo is super stubborn and usually gets what he wants.”

And yeah, the thing is, Yifan’s _worried_ about that.

+++

“ -- n? Yifan, are you with me?”

Yifan blinks and realizes he zoned out. Snapping back to attention, he further realizes that he’s been staring at the honey he’s pouring into his tea, caught up in how it’s drizzling into the cup. But crap, how long has he been tranced out?

Junmyeon smiles gently as he takes the honey and the tea from him. “I’ll get you a new cup.”

Yifan groans and runs a hand over his face. Can he just get it together? He’s never slipped this much in such a short period of time, and ever since moving in with Kyungsoo last year he’s been holding it together pretty alright. “Sorry, I just...”

Junmyeon, who also knows because they were roommates freshman year of undergrad and Yifan hadn’t yet adapted to hiding his little ticks when living with someone else -- not to mention the major meltdown he ended up having when the stress of finals had been compounded by his mom getting really scarily sick and having a cancer scare -- just shakes his head. “It’s _fine_.”

But it’s not. It’s _not_. How is he going to explain this to Kyungsoo? Chanyeol’s saying he’s going to understand, but seriously, _seriously_ \--

“I assume,” Junmyeon says, putting the cup back down and sitting down next to Yifan on the couch. “That you haven’t been sleeping well, and that’s never really helped things. I haven’t seen you this...” He waves his hand vaguely in the air. “...Vacant in a while.”

Yifan smiles ruefully down at his knees. “I’ve been catching naps at Tao’s and Sehun’s. Been bouncing between his, Qian’s, and Lu Han’s place when they’re home to get work done, too.” In case Kyungsoo ever decides to come to the shop to track him down and drag him home, he honestly tries to go to the onsite office only when absolutely necessary, and stay for as little as possible. “So yeah. My sleeping habits are really messy right now.”

When Yifan laughs lightly, ruefully, and looks over at Junmyeon, Junmyeon smiles sadly and offers a comforting hand. Yifan takes it, lacing their fingers together, and Junmyeon squeezes, gently reassuring. “Yeah, Kyungsoo called me the other day, looking for you. Told me a brief overview of what happened and that he was bewildered and wondered if I knew anything.”

Yifan wonders what it is that Kyungsoo thinks has happened. But it feels a little like going behind Kyungsoo’s back, asking Junmyeon to tell him. “Bet he’s mad. I haven’t been back home that much since -- since I. Since what happened.”

Junmyeon squeezes his hand a little harder. “I told him not to be so hard on you because he doesn’t really even know what it was that _did_ happen. He’s mostly just really confused right now.” Junmyeon’s eyebrows knit together. “You...can’t avoid him forever, Yifan.”

Yifan runs a hand over his face. He knows that, he just...is trying to work out his game plan first. “I don’t know how to explain it to him. I don’t...Junmyeon, it was a really _weird_ thing and -- ”

Junmyeon squeezes his hand again. “Hey. No point in stressing yourself out even more over what already happened. Honestly, running away from the issue and putting it off isn’t really going to help, but if you’re going to try it anyway then at least take a break and actually rest while you’re at it.”

Yifan wishes Junmyeon didn’t have to send him that all-knowing look he always got when Yifan was wrong and Junmyeon knew _he_ knew it too. But Junmyeon -- and everyone -- is right: Yifan can’t run forever. Going back to his and Kyungsoo’s shared apartment lingers as an inevitable eventual like a dark cloud on the horizon. At the very least he has to go back to get his stuff and move out, if worse comes to worst.

Junmyeon sighs and his smile turns a little softer, a little more careful. “Look, I’m going to get you that new cup of tea, okay? And then we can keep talking about this -- or we can talk about that book you lent me last week, if that’s more relaxing.”

Yifan perks up. “You finished it already?”

Junmyeon beams. “Sure did.”

Talking about literature for the next hour, instead of the nearly predetermined doom in Yifan’s relationship, is much much better. When Yifan leaves Junmyeon’s place, his heart is a little lighter as he heads to Yixing’s to crash.

+++

The problem is that Yifan feels like a liar. He knows he shouldn’t, because he doesn’t really owe anyone at every mixer or first date to give them every bit of personal information ever on himself. It’s just...it’s gotten to this point, and now it feels like he’s purposely withheld it. Well it doesn’t just _feel_ like it, because it’s literally what he’s done. Maybe his reasons are excusable, but what if Kyungsoo doesn’t feel that way? He’d have every right to, Yifan thinks.

“Either help flip the eggs or get out of the kitchen,” Yixing singsongs as he hipchecks Yifan out of the way.

Yifan rubs at the bruising spot but ducks further out of Yixing’s path with some semblance of grace. “They aren’t ready yet,” he grumbles.

Yixing hums, and the telltale hiss means he’s flipped the eggs right away to fry the other side. “Right, well I forgot to tell you but remembered while setting the table -- when you were in the shower, I got a call from Kyungsoo.”

Yifan's heart stutters. “What’d...he say?” Maybe he already called it quits and couldn’t pin Yifan down long enough to do it to his face.

Yixing taps the spatula thoughtfully against the rim of the frying pan. “Not much. Just seems to have tracked down your trail of homelessness.” Yixing glances at Yifan. “You’re welcomed here of course, but please go home soon. Just so he doesn’t have to worry -- and hide in the restaurant wine cellar, sneaking out SOS calls to make sure you’re not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

But Yifan’s phone hasn’t rung with Kyungsoo’s numbers in _days_ , because Kyungsoo has neither texted nor called him. Yifan doesn’t have a single message from Kyungsoo, and _that_ worries _him_ , because it seems an awful lot like Kyungsoo is just trying to approximate his location and… And yeah, make sure he’s not dead, instead of being actually interested in working things out. It’s not fair of Yifan, to cling to that as blame -- and he’s fully aware of that, but he’s doing it anyway. Maybe it’s some kind of weird defensive mechanism, trying to get ready for whatever shitstorm he will inevitably have to return to.

Yifan fidgets. “I don’t know...” What to say. What to do. He knows he’s made this worse, but telling the truth is going to make this worst of all.

“Yifan,” Yixing says, planative and worried. He turns and shoots Yifan a pitying look before turning back to the stove and poking at the eggs. “Go home. Running away, avoiding Kyungsoo...sooner or later this fight, whatever it’s about, will have to come to an end. For better or for worse.”

Maybe it is high time to get it all over with. Yifan just sighs and takes the plate of cut up fruit on the counter to the kitchen table, instead of giving Yixing a response.

+++

Minseok has talked to him before, about hiding who you are for the sake of others. “Yeah, I do it,” Minseok has said, time and time again. “But I feel like I don’t lie to myself nearly as much as you do about how what I’m doing is probably going to bite me in butt sooner rather than later.”

So Yifan’s surprised that Minseok doesn’t bring it up, how he was right and how Yifan should have expected this, when the news of the fight between the two of them finally reaches him -- way later than it honestly should, what with Jongdae as his boyfriend.

And about that: Jongdae still doesn’t know, that Minseok’s like Yifan -- or rather Yifan’s like Minseok, since Minseok is older and Yifan only told him because Minseok admitted it first. It’s actually better that Minseok doesn’t have any ‘I told you so’s waiting for him, because it’s hard to not think ‘if Minseok can do it, why can’t I?’ in times like this. He feels like he’s more...broken, really, _worse_ than Minseok for not being able to hide it. But he doesn’t have a choice anymore, either way.

“If this goes badly, I’ll tell Jongdae all about my stuff in a show of solidarity,” Minseok tells him fiercely, supportive and kind where Yifan thought he might be sterner, more realistic. He doesn’t know why he thought that, now that he’s seeing Minseok in action. “Actually, if it helps, we can go in the living room right now and I’ll tell him.” 

Jongdae is currently on the couch out there, skyping Baekhyun who is currently _somewhere_ in Canada as his theater company completes a North American tour, completely unaware of all the ways the drama in Yifan's life is about to collide into his own. This seems like an inappropriate way to jumpstart this conversation for Minseok and Jongdae, no matter how possibly relevant.

“I’m not trying to ruin your relationship and four years of carefully strategic cleaning habits,” Yifan says, immediately declining the offer. Because he doesn’t want to be the reason for such a momentous decision. “I just wanted your input on how you think it might be best to explain everything.”

Minseok shrugs. “I always thought I should be a little clinical about it, you know? Straightforward. Give him the facts and the scientific names for things.” Minseok nods to himself, and Yifan is amazed by his unshakeable calm, even when talking about -- thinking about -- Jongdae _knowing_. “And then once he’s had a chance to process the big picture, I’d bring up what it all means in detail and personally for me -- and what that means for him, as my partner. And if he’s still willing to stick around after that, then I guess it worked out, huh? ” 

Then Minseok pauses, squinting at Yifan in confusion. “...Wait, you’ve never thought about _how_ before?”

“Of course I’ve thought about how before, but...” But visualizing the situation in his head is vastly different from the reality. And all his imaginings of it didn’t turn out too well, anyway. None of his previous attempts in the past did, either. 

“But,” Yifan admits carefully. “But it’s never mattered how, before. It’s never changed the outcome, you know?”

This seems to make up something in Minseok’s mind, his eyes becoming hardset. “Okay, come on. No -- _come on_. I think it’s about time that I told Jongdae, anyway. I can’t _actually_ do this forever, hiding it from him, and I need a reason to force me not to run away.”

Yifan panics, and he nervously smooths his fingers over the little keychain he has fastened to his wallet to hang out his back pocket for easy access; it’s a rabbit’s foot this month. “I shouldn’t be here for that.”

“Come _on_ , Yifan, really. Consider it a practice run.” 

So they go. And Minseok does it exactly the way he’d told Yifan he would. 

(Yifan’s heart is hammering, but he knows that if Jongdae says anything -- gets upset and says _anything_ to try and hurt Minseok, he’ll step in. Minseok doesn’t need protection, but Yifan’s ready to fight for him anyway.)

But it’s unnecessary, for Yifan to worry. Because Jongdae...deals with the information well. Faltering, but well.

“Ahhhh,” Jongdae says with a nod of his head. “O...kay? Okay.” He seems determined. “Okay. I...huh, that explains a lot, actually.” Jongdae pauses, then grimaces. “Uh, if that’s offensive, let me know?”

“Almost everything out of your mouth is offensive to me, anyway,” Minseok says easily, waving it off. “Shut up, Jongdae.”

Jongdae glances at Yifan in a _you knew?_ type fashion. Yifan doesn’t know what to do but shrug, and doesn’t know exactly what Jongdae’s lingering, curious glance means.

“Well!” Jongdae says turning back to Minseok and wrapping an arm around Minseok’s waist to pull him close. “Thanks for telling me, I’m honestly touched at the display of trust. But you’re still on dinner duty this week, I hope you don’t think _that’s_ changing.”

“Always focusing on the important things, aren’t we?” Minseok says with a sigh, and Jongdae laughs.

Yifan excuses himself soon after to give them privacy, because for all the easiness that Jongdae has accepted it, he’s sure there’s still _talking_ , they’ll have to do, things they’ll have to work out. Minseok gives him a hug and a whisper of, “You can do it, just be strong,” before he goes. And Yifan feels strangely steadied by it all, though his fingers are still working over the rabbit’s foot, heart racing and thoughts scattered.

Even with all that in mind, even with Minseok’s little victory (his relief hidden in the relaxed dipping of his shoulders, the renewed lilt of his mouth, the way the determined set of his eyebrows smooths away) to bolster him, Yifan is scared. He knows his days of running are fast coming to an end, and can only hope it’ll go near the same with him and Kyungsoo. 

But Kyungsoo isn’t laidback, roll with the punches Jongdae, and Yifan knows he’s only really done things to aggravate the situation.

+++

“I am _not that mad_ ,” Are the first words out Kyungsoo’s mouth when Yifan sneaks into the apartment and lo and behold: Kyungsoo’s standing in the middle of their living room, arms crossed and legs shoulder-width apart as he stands in his typical battle stance (usually reserved for difficult customers and identified undercover food critics). He stares Yifan down as Yifan comes in through the front door and freezes on-sight.

“Or,” Kyungsoo clarifies, tone thoughtful. “I _wasn’t_ before. Did you know avoiding someone for almost two weeks over something mostly inconsequential is a very good way to absolutely, positively enrage them?”

That’s a lie, ‘something mostly inconsequential’. Kyungsoo decides what’s important and what’s not, and that’s based on some kind of weird rubric and a bunch of previous experiences that Yifan both cannot figure out and usually was not involved firsthand in. 

“I spit out your food,” Yifan says, careful to avoid the phrase ‘I didn’t like your food’, which is a totally different conversation. An easier one where the most Kyungsoo grills him on is the specifics of tastes and ingredients he did and didn’t like (though ‘why did you run away for almost two weeks’ is probably going to still be a standing, angry question). Because they’ve had that particular conversation before multiple times, when Kyungsoo had been trying out new recipes or making course list suggestions at work and experimenting with taste palette stuff. There will be no easy way for Yifan to explain why this particular conversation will have to be different if he takes that approach. Best to avoid it all together, and keep this simple. As simple as he can. “And I figured you’d be mad about that.”

“I just wanted to know why,” Kyungsoo says while nodding to himself, voice doing that whimsical airy thing it does when he’s mega-pissed, right before he swoops in for the kill. It’s stressing Yifan out. “And then you started avoiding me like I’d caught you cheating on me or something. Which,” his voice is starting to slowly elevate. “See, has got me wondering, you know: what the _fuck_ , Yifan. What the _fuck_ is your problem?”

“I -- ”

Kyungsoo barrels right over him. “I legitimately can’t figure you out this time!” He laughs, a mean and hissed sound, and then his tone falls back to scarily low and soft, so it can build once more. “I can’t make it make sense, how you reacted, and it’s the most bizarre and _stupid_ thing.”

Yifan is starting to sweat -- he doesn’t like when Kyungsoo does this. This whole psychological terrorist thing, where he can’t just _get to his point_ , but instead has to slowly build and slowly reveal exactly how angry he is and what it’s going to take to appease him. Yifan feels like everything’s out of his control and like he’s not holding any of the cards when Kyungsoo gets like this, and he loves the other man, really, truly, but he just can’t deal with this.

“Stop it,” Yifan says boldly, his voice, too, elevated. “You’re not being fair. You’re not even _trying_.”

Kyungsoo quirks an eyebrow, looking surprised and bitterly, angrily amused. He crosses his arms. “Oh? Well I’m not the one who immediately began avoiding the issue when -- ”

Yifan closes his eyes and holds up his hands in surrender. He knows he panicked and made everything worse. He’s just got to...he’s. He has to figure out how to explain this right, and he can’t think straight. 

“I -- _Kyungsoo_.” He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out that broken, but it does, and. And.

“...Yifan?” Kyungsoo doesn’t sound flippant-angry or even plain angry-angry anymore; he just sounds kind of worried.

There isn’t any way to ease into this, Yifan realizes, not when the situation’s the way it is. He lets his hands drops, and opens his eyes to look, almost defiantly, at Kyungsoo. “What happened the other day _happened_ because... Because.”

Kyungsoo’s looking at him, warily concerned but also apprehensive and borderline apologetic. Which _sucks_ , because Yifan’s pretty sure in the end Kyungsoo’s going to be the one feeling wronged and hurt here, and Yifan’s going to be the one offering all the apologies.

Yifan’s entire body feels unnaturally cold as he takes that small leap of faith, and hopes for the best. Be clinical, be scientific -- be _smart_ about this, because he’s not coming out the other side with Kyungsoo looking at him the same way. Yifan’s gaze drops from Kyungsoo’s face and locks on his chin. There. Easier. Now _say it_ , he implores himself. Just get it over with.

“I’m autistic, Soo.” Yifan finally says, voice tiny and shaking. “I’m not exactly sure what I am -- I mean. I got tested way back when I was a kid, and then my dad um. He threw out the papers and results and stuff because I’m...” 

Yifan gulps down a breath of air. He can do this, even if he doesn’t have the names for things, like Minseok, can’t just say Asperger’s and OCD and have Kyungsoo immediately get the ins and outs from the internet. It’s weirder than that, harder in some ways. “I’m supposed to be high functioning or whatever enough that I can _hide_ it. So he threw the results out when I was like nine and we just. For a really long time we just pretended that I was...you know. _Normal_.”

Yifan finally sneaks a glance at Kyungsoo, whose face has turned stricken. Yifan might as well rip the entire band-aid off in one go, so he drops his gaze again and presses on. “But I’m _not_. I. You’re supposed to...at least back then, they kind of generally tested you, and then they honed in on your...hang ups and symptoms and stuff to more specifically diagnose you. But we never...did the in-depth stuff. So I...” 

So Yifan sometimes finds new things even now, in his mid-to-late-twenties. New sounds and sensations that mess with him and leave him unsettled and unfocused for the rest of the day. Jongin’s best friend Taemin has a composer boyfriend who works part time as a DJ and likes to mess around with EDM music sometimes. And once, one of the compositions he was playing during an impromptu dinner had this sound in it that made Yifan stop focusing on everything but the buildup of that one noise. He’d dropped out of the conversation and forgot about even his food until the song was over. That was only two months ago. And that’s not the first incident of this year, even.

“So I might freak out over something randomly,” Yifan says. “I...” Here it is. Here is how he can explain what happened to kickstart all of this. He takes another deep breath. “Look, what I do know is that I hate how my hands feel when they’re dry. And that dried mud or suede on my skin makes me want to both cry and throw up. When I’m stressed or tired or hungry or uncomfortable or just _overwhelmed_ rubbing plush material calms me down. And...” 

Yifan laughs hollowly and dares to look up at Kyungsoo, who’s doing that intentionally blank face thing he does when he’s uncertain (or overwhelmed, himself). “I hate how the little wayward oat kernel shells feel in my mouth -- the ones that, I guess, no one else notices? But I do, Soo, I notice them and it’s...” Yifan shudders at the phantom memory. “It’s a bad feeling. So that’s what it was, that day. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

He waits to see if maybe Kyungsoo will yell, or kick him out or something. But Kyungsoo keeps saying nothing, which is almost worse.

So all Yifan can do is take a huge, shuddering breath, and then take a hint. “Look, I’m sorry if you feel like I tricked you into this. This whole,” he gestures, almost meaninglessly at the apartment around them. This whole lifestyle. This whole relationship. “I -- I know it’s -- Just.” 

Yifan has to pause and swallow tears that suddenly threaten to bubble up. He’s mentally going through his resources, and the best person to crash with on such short notice will be Lu Han -- at least until he can call Kevin for something a little more permanent while he looks for something on his own again. He absolutely can’t move back in with Mom, because she’ll panic and worry much more than she needs to over something so...inevitable, apparently. Just, something that Yifan has to come to terms with as his reality, when it seems to keep happening again and again.

(Yifan is tired.)

He runs a weary hand through his hair and drops his head again, looking at his shoes instead of waiting for Kyungsoo to react. His fingers keep worrying at his rabbit foot keychain and he can’t help it, can’t help any of this. “Please give me a day or two to get my stuff together and -- and if you want me to move out, I’ll -- ”

“Hey.” Kyungsoo’s voice cracks a little, but his tone is soft and careful. “Hey, I’m not kicking you out. We’re not breaking up over this. _Yifan_ \-- come here.”

Yifan looks up suddenly, eyes wide and heart hurting, and despite his words Kyungsoo’s the one coming to him where he stands, immobilized in the doorway. Kyungsoo gathers Yifan up in his arms and brings him close for a gentle hug.

“We’ll talk about this,” Kyungsoo’s saying. “You can talk to me about this.”

It’s so simple, such a simple allowance, but it has Yifan’s eyes tearing up as he ducks his head into Kyungsoo’s shoulder, hunched over in that familiarly awkward posture he always has to take to assume this position. 

Kyungsoo is sighing out shakily, sounding almost like he might cry a little too -- a very rare occurrence. “I’m so sorry Yifan,” Kyungsoo says. “I -- just. We’ll talk through this, I promise.”

+++

So they do talk about it. Kyungsoo holds Yifan, spooning him while they lay in their bed, their hands linked, and asks little prodding questions: what, in detail does he know sets him off; what are signs he’s zoning out or going into a trance, and is that ever good, or is that ever really really _bad_ ; what should Kyungsoo do when he shuts down and can’t verbally react anymore (because that happens, it really does happen sometimes and it can be difficult to get through).

“Oh shit, _sex_ ,” Kyungsoo realizes halfway through the night, which starts a whole new conversation. Yifan just laughs quietly and lets Kyungsoo lead.

(It’s...nice. To know that now he maybe won’t have to worry about micromanaging himself some days, gauging if he’s presenting normal enough even at home, if Kyungsoo’s around.)

It isn’t until the early hours of the morning, pale blue light streaming in from behind the blinds, that Kyungsoo is too tired to think up new questions -- and Yifan is too tired to answer them, probably.

Kyungsoo sleepily murmurs, “I can’t believe you’ve been putting up with so much all this time.”

“Sorry,” Yifan says, stifling down a yawn. His eyes are fluttering closed. “For keeping secrets.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Kyungsoo manages to mumble. Yifan can feel Kyungsoo’s eyelashes against the back of his neck, as Kyungsoo struggles to keep his eyes open. It makes Yifan shiver a little. “I’m saying that I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“You already said that you were sorry.”

Kyungsoo scoffs, and then yawns. Groans at how sleepy they both are. “Well, I’m saying it again. I’m sorry. I’m _really_ sorry. I have a lot to make up for.”

Yifan frowns, and he squeezes Kyungsoo’s hand lightly. “Don’t say it like that. You don’t owe me anything, I just thought it’d be easier like this. I chose to hide it all on my own.”

Kyungsoo squeezes back. “Well, it’ll be even easier _now_ , with us both on the same page. I’m not going anywhere, promise.” 

Yifan hums. “Okay.”

Kyungsoo’s eyelashes have gone still and he’s yawning again, but once he’s done he manages to say more. “No, seriously Yifan. I’m not going anywhere. And -- well, we’ll keep talking about this more. Later. When I don’t have to wake up for work in an hour.”

There is no way things are going to be perfect, not when this is just the start of it. There will be rough patches and problems and things will be shifting and in flux as they both adjust to this new brand of honesty. _All_ of Yifan's things aren’t going to be easy to live with -- Yifan knows from firsthand experience just how unwieldy and painful his worst days can be. 

But...Yifan isn’t as afraid of showing that side of himself to Kyungsoo as he was not even a day ago. He can’t be, because if Kyungsoo’s willing to try, then Yifan's willing to give him the chance to try. And Kyungsoo has always seemed like a keeper to Yifan.

The way Kyungsoo’s body is cradling his own, even though Yifan is so much bigger than him, is familiar and safe as he drifts to sleep. _We’ll figure this out_ , Yifan tells himself as he finally lets sleep take hold of him, and the thought is comforting.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. again, this story is very personal um
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> 2\. post-story kyungsoo for like 2 years afterwards keeps getting advice from chanyeol and junmyeon and minseok about little things that yifan is still too embarrassed or unable to talk about and how to approach them, since those three have a lot more experience with the matter. 
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> 3\. yeah i wrote minseok as having both asperger’s and ocd, and i didn’t elaborate on it very much but it’s pretty common for ocd or depression anxiety etc to accompany asperger’s so...yeah?
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> 4\. jongdae and kyungsoo have weekly tea basically to figure out if they’re messing up with their autistic boyfriends, and bond over the fact that at least three times out of ten, yeah they are. just gotta keep at it and learning from their mistakes!
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> 5\. just because i didn’t manage to have an exo member show up beyond a name mention in the story doesn’t mean i don’t love them! i just focused on where the story organically was going and not so much on making cameos. the only exception to it being unintentional was with jongin, because if you’re on the run from kyungsoo you are also basically on the run from jongin, no? so that’s just how that particular cookie crumbled.
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> 6\. yes, taemin’s composer boyfriend is jonghyun.


End file.
